43. Haze
Haze
I watch her peaceful face, curled up in the blankets. Her chest rises and falls.
She is so soft. So gentle. So good.
I almost hate her for it. How lovely and trusting she is.
I hate it because it should have been for me. It could have been if it weren’t for the Ancient One I now serve.
But it’s not really her I hate. It’s this place. It’s the priestess and the Ancient and Nihil. It’s myself, I hate the most, because I don’t believe I’ll ever be worthy of such light.
I’ve avoided her as much as physically possible, because each moment I linger in her presence, the weaker my self-control becomes. I am at my breaking point.
It’s too much. This pain. This fear.
The chasm between us is too wide to even attempt crossing, but sometimes I sit at the edge and imagine. I watch in awe, each breath she takes.
How did she survive in all of this? How is she still here? She is a living miracle.
In these moments, I succumb to the hope that would destroy me and imagine. Her smile for me. Her lips against mine. I imagine her thighs around me. Her back arched. Her little gasps and moans.
Her song. Her joy. Her head against my chest.
Her belly swollen?—
I drop to my knees at that image, my soul cracking wide open. My chest convulses with violent breaths.
I suck in and wheeze out until my vision peppers black. The pain is overwhelming. The darkness writhes inside, desperate to get out.
How long can I control it?
How long until I become the darkness and it kills she and I both?
I fist my hair so tightly it hurts.
I don’t even notice that she woke until her fingers brush the bottom of my chin, lifting my face to hers.
I blink, eyes wide. Like a child, desperate for connection. Desperate for relief from the fear that rages inside.
“You’re different, aren’t you?” Her voice is so quiet.
She’s like an angel. Her smooth skin, beautiful pink lips, and hair the color of a tiny flame in the darkness. Golden at some moments, red at others.
When I don’t respond, she places her palm on my chest—right where it hurts the most. The ache settles. The darkness halts.
She and I breathe as one.
For the first time in years, I am not afraid.
I should be, I know. Nothing has changed. Nothing will change. She is a new relief, and a new treasure to lose. I won’t survive it when that is stolen from me too.
But for this moment, when I want to tell her the whole truth, when I want to give in and let our souls connect, the light is so bright I could almost believe I could reach it.
If only those moments could last.
“I am not different,” I grind out. I stand, and she stumbles back from me. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you will ever mean anything to me.”
“That’s not the mistake I’m making,” she tells me. She looks down at her hands.
I blink, uncertain of her meaning.
“I’m making the mistake of thinking you’re human.” Her kind eyes find mine again, but she doesn’t move from her place kneeling on the floor. “I’m making the mistake of believing you feel shame and regret. You want to be different. You want to be better.”
I swallow.
“And if you’re not different,” she tells me, her eyes searching mine so deeply I fear she will actually see me.
I take a step away from her. What if she knows? What if she sees the secret I hide?
“If you’re not different, then that means there are more like you.”
I jerk back.
She rises to her feet. Her shoulders straight and chin up. I often think of her as a dove that needs protecting. Sometimes, I forget that she can fly.
“I’m making the mistake,” she continues, “of believing there is good here. There is something worth saving.”
“Thinking like that will get you killed,” I say through gritted teeth. I am surprised when she doesn’t flinch. “Trust no one. Wish for nothing because the moment you find any ounce of happiness, it will be used against you and then destroyed.”
She smiles.
My eyes widen. I can’t help it. I’m struck by her light. How, in this place, is she still so fucking bright? Why is she smiling? How?
“It’s scary,” she tells me. “Hope is really scary.”
My chest tightens. She’s even more incredible than I’d ever imagined.
“But life is not worth living without it.”
I press my eyes closed. I wish I could give in. I wish I could have her strength. Her fight. Her body is so small. She is delicate. Vulnerable. And yet, I’ve never seen a soul so strong.
I don’t think she even realizes how strong she is. It’s terrifying.
“Here, life only continues with surrender. Surrender, Little Dove. Surrender or this gets so much worse.”